


apricots and lilacs

by bluejayblueskies



Series: TMA Fantasy Week [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Castles, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tenderness, alternative title: how much can i project my love of royalty romances onto a single fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 08:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejayblueskies/pseuds/bluejayblueskies
Summary: Tim opens his mouth to say that everything’s fine, that he’s just preoccupied with the newest treaty that’s brought him here, that he’s trying to prepare himself for the unfortunate amount of time he’ll have to spend in the king’s company.Instead, he says, “I don’t want to have to ask for permission to marry you.”
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: TMA Fantasy Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208423
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	apricots and lilacs

**Author's Note:**

> written for tma fantasy week for prompt 5: castle

Tim hates visiting the Magnus Court. The castle is ostentatious, a blatant display of money and power rather than a functional stronghold, and the feeling of being watched creeps across the back of his neck every time he walks through the mirrored halls, his own face reflected back a million times over. The king himself has a voice that somehow makes Tim want to crawl out of his own skin—something posh and self-entitled, fitting for a man with such a name as _Jonah_ —and each diplomatic visit feels like pulling teeth.

Tim hates everything about visiting the Magnus Court, except for this:

Sitting in the little nook in the library, book cracked open on his knee but his eyes trained not on the letters but on Jon as he talks, passion setting his eyes alight and sparkling.

Sneaking into the kitchens and stealing warm apricot pastries from the hearth, their fingers stained a sticky orange as they make a hasty retreat to Jon’s quarters.

Sitting in the courtyard, butterflies flitting from flower to flower and the leaves of the trees casting dappled shadows on the cobblestone ground, and feeling the comforting weight of Jon’s eyes on him as Tim talks of his own kingdom and the forests within it and the mountains and seas that lie beyond.

Taking Jon’s hand in his and pressing kisses to Jon’s lips and curling up next to Jon’s side at night, listening to the gentle chirping of crickets outside and losing himself in the warmth and comfort of the man he’s come to love most ardently.

Tim’s considered, many times, asking for Jon’s hand in marriage. It’s an arcane practice, really, but Tim doesn’t particularly relish the thought of asking Jon to marry him only to be halted by royal bureaucracy and ‘diplomatic unions.’ Nor is he looking forward to the certainly grueling ordeal of bringing the matter before the king.

_Ridiculous,_ Tim thinks as he tightens his grip on Jon’s hand ever so slightly. They’re walking through the gardens, the sunlight warm against his skin, and Jon’s been complaining for the last twenty minutes about ‘a complete lack of information and direction regarding how I’m meant to carry out my duties in the kingdom.’ _Jon’s just the king’s ward; it’s not like he’s in line for the throne or anything. I should be able to do what I bloody well please._

“Tim,” Jon says, and Tim can hear the frown in Jon’s voice even before he looks over at Jon’s face. “Are you all right? You, er. You seem as if you’re somewhere else.”

Tim lets out a weary sigh. He shouldn’t be surprised—it’s not like he’s great at hiding what he’s feeling, and Jon’s always been a bit too perceptive for his own good. He opens his mouth to say that everything’s fine, that he’s just preoccupied with the newest treaty that’s brought him here, that he’s trying to prepare himself for the unfortunate amount of time he’ll have to spend in the king’s company.

Instead, he says, “I don’t want to have to ask for permission to marry you.”

Jon’s eyes widen to the size of saucers and he nearly trips over his own feet and _fuck,_ Tim’s really done it now, hasn’t he? Not even a proper proposal or anything, just- just a bitter remark about the _politics_ of betrothals. _Christ,_ one day the number of holes in his verbal filter is going to condemn him.

He’s just about to make some excuse—to _somehow_ cover up the fact that he’s just indirectly asked Jon to marry him—when Jon says, matter-of-factly, “Then don’t.”

Tim’s brain screeches to a halt, and his ability to form words leaves him for an embarrassingly long moment. When he finally regains the ability to speak coherently, he says, “ _What?_ ”

Jon shrugs. It’s probably supposed to be casual, but Tim’s been around Jon long enough to recognize the nervous furrow in his forehead, the tension he’s carrying in his shoulders. “You’re worried about whether or not Jonah will allow it,” he says, “and I’m telling you that I _don’t care._ It’s an antiquated practice anyway, and I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of being auctioned off to whoever wins the royal stamp of approval.” Jon hesitates, and his grip on Tim’s hand loosens ever so slightly. “Only… only if you want to, of course. Er. To ask.”

Tim uses his grip on Jon’s hand to pull them to a halt. They’re stood next to a particularly lovely lilac tree, and the scent of the blossoms washes over Tim as he looks at Jon—at those curious brown eyes and the braids Jon’s so fond of, streaked through with grey, and the little scar through Jon’s left eyebrow where he’d fallen as a child and cut it on a bit of shattered pottery. “Really?” Tim says, a bit breathlessly. “You- you aren’t afraid that he’ll say no?”

“No,” Jon says firmly. “Because I’m saying yes, and I’m not planning on changing my mind.”

Tim’s stomach flutters with a thousand tiny butterflies, and he thinks he might actually be floating. “I haven’t even asked yet.”

Jon’s expression fractures slightly, some of that nervousness bleeding through along with a fair amount of embarrassment. “Oh. R- right, of course. I- I shouldn’t have assumed that—”

“ _Jon,_ ” Tim says, reaching up a hand to gently cup the side of Jon’s face. “Will you marry me?”

Jon sucks in a shaky breath, and his hand tightens around Tim’s. Tim can feel Jon’s smile, small and giddy and a bit lopsided, against his palm as Jon says, “I believe I’ve already answered that question.”

“Smart-ass,” Tim says fondly. He takes a moment to run his thumb along Jon’s cheekbone, feeling him shiver under his touch, before leaning forward and claiming Jon’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Later, there’ll be rings and arrangements and a plethora of diplomatic affairs that Tim’s _really_ not looking forward to, but now there’s only this: Jon’s lips warm beneath his and Jon’s fingers intertwined with his and the smell of lilacs lingering upon the breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make my day! if you liked what you read, let me know 💛
> 
> find me on tumblr [@bluejayblueskies](https://bluejayblueskies.tumblr.com/)


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